


Transcendence

by NinjaSniperKitty



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Because Strahd is mean and hurts his feelings, Blood, Blood Drinking, Character Analysis, Curse of Strahd, Elf lore that nobody asked for, Gen, In which Rahadin shows more emotion than he has in 600+ years, Themes of aging and death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24640954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaSniperKitty/pseuds/NinjaSniperKitty
Summary: Throughout his four centuries of existence, very few things had remained a constant in Strahd's life. His chamberlain, who had been by his side since Strahd was a young man growing up at his father's keep, just happened to be one of those constants. When Rahadin requests to leave Barovia to try and make peace with his gods, Strahd is forced to think about what it means to be mortal once more — and it still terrifies him.
Relationships: Strahd von Zarovich & Rahadin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Transcendence

“Master, are you busy at the moment?”

I looked up from the letter I had been writing, not at all thrilled to have been interrupted. “I am always busy, Rahadin, just as you should be. What is it?”

My dusk elf chamberlain peered into my study from just outside of the door frame as if he were hesitant to enter. “Forgive me. I apologize for intruding, then. I will speak with you later when—”

I sighed and not-so-gently placed the quill I had been holding back into its holder to demonstrate my displeasure. Sometimes Rahadin would go days without speaking to me only to show up at the least desirable times. It was as if he had a hidden sense for it. “No. You're already here. Speak.”

His arms were crossed behind his back when he entered my study. Rather than taking a seat, he stood beside the chair a few feet away from me. His gaze flickered, and I could read the apprehension on his face. My interest was piqued.

“I was hoping to speak with you regarding a personal matter.” 

_A personal matter._ I could count on one hand the number of times my chamberlain had come to me for personal matters within the past four centuries. He was a closed book when it came to his personal life. Something about him seeing it as unprofessional despite the fact that my late father had embraced him as a member of the Von Zarovich family.

Upon hearing no naysay, he inhaled deeply before beginning. “As I'm sure you know, elves are blessed—or cursed, depending on who you ask—with an unnaturally long lifespan. It is not unheard of for elves to live upwards of 700 years.”

I raised my eyebrows in encouragement; I could see that whatever Rahadin would eventually get at was of great importance to him. Despite my dislike for storytelling, I let him continue.

“Our lifespans are generally divided into three periods. As I'm also sure you know, we do not sleep in the traditional sense as most other men do. Instead, we experience what are known as trances. It is similar to meditation, in a way.”

Rahadin began to pace. Ten steps forward, turn, ten steps backward. Repeat _ad infinitum._

"When we are children, our thoughts primarily surround our previous lives. Adventures our soul had gone on in past lives, memories, lessons learned. It's a time for learning and growth. When we become of age, or experience our first drawing of the veil, we gain the ability to focus inward and reflect upon our own memories. This allows us to improve upon ourselves and find our faults so that we may work on them in the future. However, in our later years, our memories become unfamiliar to us. Some hypothesize that they are the memories of those that have yet to be reborn.” 

Rahadin stopped and his gaze became unfocused. “I’ve, ah, begun to no longer recognize the memories in my trance.”

There was a sharp remark at the tip of my tongue, something akin to teasing Rahadin for being old, but the very solemn look on his face had me hold my tongue. It was exceedingly rare for him to ever want to talk about himself, much less his people. He was always quick to change the subject whenever I brought up the dusk elf encampment in Barovia. Not that I could blame him; I often wondered if he did feel residual shame for single-handedly bringing about the downfall of the dusk elves. He held his loyalty to my family above all else, something that I valued greatly. He was one of the few that I knew I could place my trust in completely. 

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked softly as to not sound condescending. Verily, he would not be disclosing this if it were not important to him. Lending an ear was the least I could do for my longtime friend. 

“I, ah,” he exhaled deeply, ”was hoping to reconcile with my gods and homeland before it is too late.”

“I didn't know you were spiritual.”

“Perhaps less so than other dusk elves, but yes. I was raised to be a follower of the Seldarine. It's especially hard not to believe in a higher power when you've lived in Barovia as long as I have. When you've witnessed the powers held within the Amber Temple. The strength of the Dark Powers.” He continued, “When elves die, our soul returns to Arvandor before we are reincarnated. I've always done what I felt was right, but I worry that perhaps—”

“You’ve made a wrong decision.”

His eyes became wide for a moment and he stopped pacing. “No. I don't regret a moment of serving the Von Zarovich family.” There was an earnest look in his gray eyes. “I worry that given the circumstances surrounding Barovia, perhaps my soul will not be able to leave when the time comes. And, perhaps, that is why I have not begun to achieve Transcendence yet.”

It was a fair enough assumption. I knew very well that the Dark Powers that had rolled through the land after my transformation had made the land akin to a cage. Souls did not merely pass on in Barovia. It was for that reason that my dear Tatyana remained in this land. While her body, heritage, and circumstances changed, I could feel that it was still her soul in each reincarnation. I could see it in her face and that beautiful auburn hair.

“What is Transcendence?” I asked. 

“When elves near the end of their lives, we typically get what resembles crescents in our eyes during a trance. It's akin to,” he pauses to search for a word, “cataracts, I suppose. This is the Seldarine’s way of saying that the gates to Arvandor are open and that they are ready to receive us.”

“I see. I'm assuming that you do not have this condition, and thus you are worried that your gods have not accepted you.”

Our eyes met. There was a slight melancholic look behind his. “Yes, something like that. That is why I have come to you with this request, my lord.” He inhaled shakily. “I beg your permission to leave Barovia for a few years to visit my homeland.”

“Mm.” A few years. I felt my stomach sink a little at that. In the grand scheme of things, a few years was nothing. I had nothing but time on my hands. Yet I was wary of allowing people to leave the fog; my trust had been betrayed before. Not that I suspected that Rahadin would ever betray me, but making exceptions was the mark of a poor leader. “While I appreciate you being open with me, I cannot allow this. Your work here is far too valuable for me to be without it for any amount of time. In addition, you should know that I do not allow individuals to leave the fog for mere vacations.”

“ _Vacation?_ ” Rahadin’s voice cracked. His fists balled at his sides. “Strahd, this is no mere vacation. This is a matter of my own salvation! This is beyond you or me o-or even Barovia! I beg of you to reconsider!”

“You saw to it that you had no homeland to return to. You're a von Zarovich; this is your homeland.”

“Yes, but my gods cannot see past the fogs of Barovia. You allow the Vistani to come and go as they please. I merely need—”

“I owe a great deal to the Vistani.”

Rahadin’s expression dropped. The look of hurt in his eyes—and I do not use the term lightly—was almost palpable. “You... do not believe that I have served you adequately.”

“No, Rahadin. You have served me admirably. Without parallel, even. That is why I cannot allow you to leave.” I placed a hand on his shoulder in what I hoped was a reassuring gesture, but it did nothing to lighten his mood. He refused to make eye contact. “I need you here with me. If you are concerned about dying, there are things we can do to prevent it. You've been my trusted companion for over four centuries; I would be honored to have you by my side for four more.”

While it may have been imperceptible to others, the slight twitch of his mouth was not lost to me. I could hear his heart start to beat faster in his chest.

I tried not to take offense to it.

“You are alluding to… _turning_ me, yes?”

“Yes.”

“It has been an absolute pleasure serving you, my lord. Forgive me, but I have seen the way they act and have no desire to join the ranks of your undead spawn.”

“I am a tad insulted that you would think I would turn you into a mere spawn. You’ve served me loyally and without question.” I fixed him with a look to convey the genuineness behind my words. “There are options beyond being a spawn. I could give you powers more akin to my own. You would not have to be under my thrall.”

Throughout my life, I had only granted the privilege of becoming a full-fledged vampire to two others. Once, I attempted to give the gift to Tatyana—Marina at the time—while she was on her deathbed. She was slain before the transformation could take place. Another time, I gave the gift to my compatriot Vladimir Strokov, whom I had allowed to venture past the fog in the hope that he could find a way to rid me of my curse. Instead, he abandoned Barovia. Abandoned me. My spies reported that he was now hiding in some pitiful excuse of a fortress in Darkon just outside of my reach. 

Rahadin's voice was more stern this time when he spoke. “I am honored that you would deem me worthy for such a transformation. However, when my time comes, I would prefer to,” he paused, as if searching for words, “go by more natural means.”

 _He’s trying so hard not to offend me,_ I noted with a small smirk. I decided to press him for my own amusement. “What makes you believe that your soul can still be salvaged? That you deserve to move on to a higher existence? Surely committing what many would consider to be genocide against one’s own people—murdering women and children alike—is an offense that would not be taken lightly by your deities.”

Rahadin took a shaky breath. I could tell that I had struck a nerve. “I merely obey the orders given to me.”

“I do not recall giving you those particular orders. If I recall, you took the initiative to seek revenge on my behalf.” I pulled my hand away from his shoulder. “This land and all of its occupants are already damned, my friend. Wouldn’t you rather serve by my side than risk becoming one of those soulless husks you see ambling amongst the unwashed masses below?”

His voice was uncharacteristically soft as he spoke. “My salvation is deserving of an attempt. If I could only commune with my gods—”

“If you could commune with your gods, they would laugh at you for wasting your time, Rahadin.”

His face flashed between several emotions—anger, hurt, indifference—as he attempted to control himself. Silence stretched on between us. He walked towards the fireplace and stared into the flames in silent contemplation, his back turned to me. Finally, Rahadin spoke up. His voice was soft. “I pray for you. At the Amber Temple. I pray that the vestiges free you of your curse so that you may finally find peace. No human should be subjected to an eternity.”

I couldn't help but curl my lip at that. Prayer was a waste of time and energy, especially in a land devoid of answers. “How _thoughtful_ of you. Do you really think my life so terrible that you must pray on my behalf?”

He was silent for several moments. “Do you deny that you are unhappy? That you are content forever chasing after your heart’s desire only to have her out of your reach?”

“I suggest you mind your tongue,” I warned, not bothering to keep the malice out of my tone.

I thought long and hard about that. I occasionally reflect upon it to this day. Was I happy? Happiness was such a subjective term, one that I did not like to dwell on for long. Yet was it my chamberlain’s place to question such things? Absolutely not. 

“Keep your paltry prayers to yourself…” I muttered and returned to my writing. It was difficult to focus on the task at hand, however, as my thoughts continually drifted to Rahadin’s words. 

Several minutes went by, yet he did not leave. I could feel his eyes on me, probably trying to make a judgment regarding my mood. “You may leave now.” His staring was grating on my nerves.

“Strahd, you know I would not make this request were it not of the utmost importance to me. As your brother, I call upon this one favor. Ten years. That is all I need.” His voice was barely louder than a whisper. “Please.”

 _“Fine,”_ I spat and stood up, crumpling up the letter I had been working on. My words had come out harsher than I had intended, yet I was very frustrated with his insistence and ignorance. An inkwell tipped over, sending black ink oozing across the surface of my desk. It was rare for my emotions to get the better of me, yet I found that I could not restrain my rage. It was as if something had boiled over inside me. I bared my fangs at him in my rage. “ _Leave._ But do not let me see you in Barovia again or it will be your head on a pike, _brother.”_ The words fell like acid from my tongue. 

I was hoping that he would take the hint at that and leave. Yet he continued to stare at me with that look of wide-eyed dejection—a rare emotion for him—and of thinly veiled _pity._ There was little keeping me from lashing out at him right then and there. My nails dug into the palms of my hands until it hurt, yet it did little to calm me down. I continued to stare at him until eventually, I saw him swallow heavily and his gaze fell to the floor. This—whatever _this_ was—was not a good look for my typically stoic chamberlain and I eventually returned to my seat at my desk so I would not have to look upon the pitiful sight further.

I pulled another piece of parchment out and began to reconstruct my letter. Truth be told, most of the writing was nonsense as my concentration was in shambles. I knew he was still there and had not abided by my orders. There was something trying to claw its way into my consciousness, but I did my best to ignore it.

“Strahd.”

A hand rested upon my shoulder. Every fiber in my body longed to tear it from its socket. 

_Restraint._

“I do not want us to part on sour terms. I would very much like to return to Barovia after my exodus to continue serving this family—serving _you_.”

I felt Rahadin shift behind me; he never had been good with conveying his feelings.

“Your family took me in when my own people turned their backs to me. I would never dare break the vows I made to your father. As such, I… do not want to leave unless I have your blessing. An enthusiastic blessing.”

Hesitantly, I reached back to place my hand atop his, as if I were trying to convince myself that this was okay. That I was calm. Yet I still could not convince myself. Without turning around, I took a deep breath before speaking once more. “You may not be a good man, but you are a loyal man, Rahadin. It is a privilege to have you in my service.” Rare praise. Another attempt at convincing myself. 

“You have my blessing to pass through the mists unharmed. I will… eagerly be awaiting your return to Barovia, and I hope you are able to find peace with your gods.”

There was a relieved exhale behind me, and Rahadin’s grip on my shoulder tightened slightly. “Thank you for understanding, my lord. This means a lot.”

Ten years. Just droplets in the bucket when I had eternity ahead of me. Rahadin undoubtedly still had centuries ahead of him as well. He had been an adult when I was still a young man living at my father's keep. Yet if he of all people was beginning to become concerned with his own mortality, the afterlife... How long was ten years, really? He had not mentioned how long each of the little life stages he had mentioned lasted, nor…

I turned my head to address him. “Rahadin, what is your age?” I asked, quieter than I had intended. 

The question seemed to catch him off guard, and he raised his eyebrows. “That is a… difficult question, considering time operates differently in Barovia than it did where I was born. Calendars being recorded differently and whatnot. Let me think…” He put a thumb to his chin. “640, my lord. Give or take a decade.

“I'm aware that I've miraculously lived longer than most dusk elves, however. Typically, we die by illness or mortal injuries long before we see our fifth century.”

The rest of his words were lost upon me. _Anywhere from 630 to 650._

When I had been a mortal man, I had once envied the elves. I did not fear dying with a sword in my hand. Many of my forefathers had died with their blood painting the dirt, yet they were still renowned as mighty warriors. To die defending that which you loved, building your empire, rooting out the weak. These were honorable deaths. Yet the thing I feared most of all was the passage of time. I feared the day in which I would be too weak to wield a sword, when others would look upon me and see only death. That was one of the reasons I had taken the pact with Vampyre. 

The elves did not have to worry about the passage of time. Instead, they could dedicate centuries to increasing their knowledge and building their empires. Yet unlike me, they feared sickness and conflict. One errant cold and their unreachable podium of knowledge could come crashing down. 

I no longer envied the elves; my own immortality saw to that. What was existence when you could not have the one thing your heart longed for most? When you could not choose your own death? When you could no longer sire a living family and continue your lineage? When even those with elven blood coursing through their veins, the last reminder of a time in which you had been a breathing man and your last scrap of some semblance of a family, would eventually succumb to the effects of time while you still lived? 

I refused to be alone in my misery.

With trepidation, I stood up from my chair once more. I could feel my hand tremble somewhat against its wooden back as I pushed it beneath the desk. I held my arm out in an invitation to clasp hands. Rahadin smiled at me, a rare and genuine smile that radiated what I could only describe as brotherly adoration, and clasped my hand.

I pulled him in for an embrace. His body stiffened—in over 400 years of knowing one another, I don't think we had ever shared anything more than a handshake or a clap on the back—yet I eventually felt the tension leave his muscles as he returned the embrace. 

He gave my back one last awkward pat before going to pull away. My grip held firm, even as he began to resist. From this distance, I could hear the tantalizing thrum of blood in his veins.

“My lord…?” I let our eyes meet. There was so much trust in them. Sergei's eyes had shone with that same brotherly trust once upon a time. 

Before I could give myself time to reconsider, my fangs sank through the skin and muscle of his throat, into the vein that carried precious life throughout his body. His blood was hot on my tongue and I greedily drank it down.

 _“_ Strahd, _please!”"_ His voice cracked as he spoke. I could hear the rising panic in it, the racing of his heartbeat. He pushed against my chest with more strength than I had thought him capable of, yet I held firm.

Rahadin feared little, I knew, but at that moment I could taste the bitter tang of fear in his blood.

For the first time since I had known him, I heard Rahadin sob. Of all things, he sobbed my name. I tried not to let it affect me—this was for the better, after all—but something ancient stirred inside me at hearing my strained name on his lips. 

I hunted that feeling down and drowned it. 

I drank until his panicked cries became soft gurgles, until he stopped resisting and until he held onto only the barest threads of life. His breathing had become shallow, almost imperceptible, by the time I had had my fill. 

Time was of the essence. I tore open my shirt and pierced my own flesh, just above my heart, with a claw until I could feel our mingled blood well and flow down my chest. I brought Rahadin’s head to my chest—he was as lightweight as a child’s toy.

 _"Drink_.”

Yet he did not. 

_“Drink,_ you stubborn idiot! _”_ I urged again. I attempted to extend my influence over him, yet there was hardly anything left for my will to cling onto. I pressed his lips to the wound and silently hoped that it would be enough. His eyelids fluttered as the blood ran past his parted lips. I felt relief when he finally began to drink.

A wave of warmth and ecstasy more intense than any coupling washed over me as he lapped up our mingled blood. It was an overwhelming feeling that I had yet to become accustomed to despite having done this process twice before. I could feel his own strength grow as mine waned until I could no longer hold him up. Yet his arms encircled my neck and he continued to drink deeply until I had to force him off with no small effort on my part. We both collapsed upon the ground. 

My own limbs felt heavy. I felt myself doze in and out of consciousness until I eventually found the strength to sit up. My gaze sluggishly trailed over to the still form of Rahadin. No longer could I hear the beat of his heart. His chest was no longer rising and falling; he had breathed his last breath as a mortal man, and soon, if the ritual had worked properly, he would be joining me amongst the ranks of the undead.

Once I was confident that enough of my strength had returned, I gathered my chamberlain in my arms and carried him to the crypts, where I would wait for him until he awoke. 

**Author's Note:**

> I read the Mordenkainen's Tome of Foes chunk on elves and I was INSPIRED even though I still think elves are one of the more boring D&D races (FIGHT ME)


End file.
